


Retirement Plan

by roseveare



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 13:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7172891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseveare/pseuds/roseveare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<i>You can retire to a farm in the Gede Valley, and keep goats, and be loyal to whoever you want</i>."</p><p>He'd been in a suggestible state of the mind at the time, or this would never have happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retirement Plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pianolise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pianolise/gifts).



He'd been in a suggestible state of the mind at the time, or this would never have happened.

"Come down from there, Speckle-toes, now, be reasonable! We cannot stay here all night, and although _you_ may prefer to eat the foliage than any morsel I might feed you, I cannot, and I think that at least _some_ of your fellows prefer to sleep at home."

This, Relius had long decided, was all some other subtler facet of the Thief's revenge, and his own punishment for his failures. The mottled brown-and-white pointed face looked back down at him and bleated a note that he interpreted as a total lack of understanding any problem existed. Speckle-toes was quite comfortable where she was, and she was not moving.

"I shall skin you for boots," Relius tried, his voice grating in his most terrifying mode of torturer and interrogator, eyes narrowing on the acrobatic little fiend. "I shall do it slowly, and leave you just enough alive to enjoy every bit of the terrible experience, and _I_ shall enjoy it, too."

" _Meh_ ~" wasn't a reply that should have so many potential meanings and inflections. Unconcern shone through in this utterance of it.

" _Please_ come down," Relius tried, in an anxious burst. "Of course I wouldn't skin you for boots." The patchy, ugly, undersized creature with its broken horn and mangled ear on the left side was his favourite of his charges by far.

But neither reason, nor threat, not abject pleading, he had discovered to his consternation and growing horror in these last weeks of his _idyllic retirement_ , ever worked upon goats.

"You _want_ me to come up there and get you," Relius groaned in weary acceptance, staring up at the goat standing with its four feet in a trim line on the very narrow, high-up branch of the tree as if it had not a care in the world. He huffed and pulled off his loose top-shirt, which would only snag on the branches, and left it hanging on a low, broken branch end. Then he moved in and searched for hand and toe holds on the tree. It was easier, where he could, to hook his elbow around the branches than to try to use the hand that hadn't healed straight, where he wore a brace at his wrist to keep a moderate amount of usefulness.

He was getting far more adept at climbing trees than he had ever expected to again, after leaving behind the antics of his youth for the Queen's service, and after leaving the Queen's service for retirement due to his broken mind and health.

He squirmed through the branches and discovered that the tree was _very_ thorny indeed. They almost always were. Speckle-toes distinctly liked the thorny trees best, but all of the goats delighted in maximising his misery.

With his hand almost within reach of the prize, Speckle-toes snorted and shook herself, wobbled on the branch, and having sent Relius' heart into his mouth, jumped.

She landed perfectly and started eating the grass without a glance to spare for Relius, snaked out upon the branch high up in the tree, and the marvelous joke of their swapped positions.

"I hate you. May all the gods curse you and your offspring for the rest of eternity," Relius declared.

The branch under him made an ominous creaking. He cast a worried glance over his shoulder and started trying to work upon, as hurriedly but carefully as possible, making his way back to the ground.

***

Returning to the farm, his former escapee trotting at his heels like the most obedient and sweet-tempered of goats in the world now that the great joke was over, Relius made his mind up.

He did not have many things, for though his rooms as a royal retainer had been filled with rich possessions and fine clothes, he had felt he deserved none of them, and had determined to retire himself to a simpler life. What he had on the farm, he packed quickly. There was still enough light left in the day to start the journey back to Attolia's capitol, and he might make it by sundown tomorrow if his energy allowed. He was determined to leave while the will was strong in him.

No matter his failings, no matter the gift of his escape from the Queen's service alive, no matter his fear of what he might embrace in returning to it -- he did _not_ belong here, keeping goats.

Something bleated at him from the window and Relius looked up to see he had an audience. The pure white goat that he had called Snowtop butted the rough stone with her head -- she wasn't the most intelligent of creatures -- and gave him an accusing glare as if it were _his_ fault she was suddenly dazed.

Another head appeared beside her as Speckle-toes scrambled up the stonework. There wasn't enough room on the ledge, and the two goats knocked each other off.

Relius smiled despite himself and leaned out of the window. They were already on their feet, moving away. They had the tenacity of roaches. "I am going," he declared, firmly. "You can all do as you wish. Live off the mountains, climb the trees, eat the thistles. You all know as well as I do that I am superfluous here."

It took three days to reach the capitol, complicated by his own ill knowledge of rough camping and the antics of the three of his herd which decided to follow him.

***

The messenger brought word to the Queen after dinner on the third evening of Relius' journey home. She raised her eyebrows and cast her raised-eyebrowed confusion to Eugenides, for his comment, which was, "I knew he would be back."

Attolia sighed. "I had hoped he might find peace in retirement."

Eugenides _smirked_. She narrowed her eyes at him, not understanding why.

"You assured me the farm was very beautiful," she said, pointedly.

"It was. Of course, I wasn't able to visit it myself, but I was shown many fine pictures by a very talented artist. It appeared to be a gem among farms."

"And the goats were of excellent stock." She waited.

"The very best goats in the city. I _was_ able to review the merchants in the town and pick out the finest, by hand, myself." He spun the fingers of his remaining hand in a merry gesture.

"You did not." The Queen's fingers clenching white did not hide her anger. He shuffled, uneasy because he was always still first that little bit afraid of her anger. So she relented, although she still added, "The King of Attolia did not spend his valuable time selecting _goats_. No matter how specifically ill-tempered and fractious those animals may have been."

"No," Eugenides agreed. "I sent Costis, with another of his friends in the guard whose uncle is an expert breeder, so I'm sure they were the very best of goats. I am sure that even had I told Costis to choose the most foul-mannered of the brutes, he would not have done so for Relius."

"So," she stopped, puzzled, unsure where the game lay. "How did you machinate this, against my very sincere wishes for Relius to enjoy a peaceful retirement?"

Eugenides laughed, loud and long and... exceptionally annoying, as he leaned back in his chair, tossing a foot onto the table and making his attendants cringe. "My dear Irene, they are _goats_. And Relius is... as much a product of city and court and a life of subtleties and intrigue... as you are."

All four legs of his chair hit the floor again as he hastily moved forward to lift up and kiss her fingers, to soften the words into an endearment.

"I am not amused," Attolia said, unmoved from her irritation. "You find this a fine joke. Then we shall find another, more appropriate retirement for my old friend and dear servant, one which does not toy with him, inadvertantly or otherwise. I shall see Relius immediately," she told the messenger, who had brought up the message from the city gates at speed, so there was some time to prepare herself for this audience. Her old Secretary of the Archives still had much of the city to travel through. "Go back and ensure the guards at every point know he is expected and I eagerly await his presence."

The messenger hesitated, in the face of her forcefulness. "There is just one other thing..."

***

"Goats..." Attolia said slowly. She had never had much contact with the things. They were rather small animals, and furry, and she had always thought somewhat endearing. A life of keeping them had seemed to her to be a restful prospect.

"I could not leave them behind." Relius shuffled guiltily and looked afraid. It was true that the goats did not have to be in the audience chamber, but Attolia, who at the time had had enough of excuses, had simply waved the messenger away and told him to admit Relius in such state as he was along with _whatever_ he brought with him. Now Eugenides was laughing behind his hand. 

It was true that Relius would probably have been afraid, no matter where, when, under what circumstances this audience happened. She had seen little of him after the pardon. She had thought that after his stint in the dungeon he would prefer to avoid seeing her again. Eugenides had saved a little of her heart and soul by manipulating his release, but of their history and friendship, of Relius' long service to her, it had salvaged nothing. 

"Relius," the Queen said softly. "I do not care about the goats."

She moved her dress out of the way of the white one's nibbles. It followed. She gave up on the dress. The fuzzy head of the goat was soft against her leg, though its horns poked uncomfortably every now and then. Relius had caught up the black goat and held it under one arm, but his eyes kept darting worriedly to the ugly one that was teetering on the back of the King's chair, all four feet clumped on one tiny carved knob.

"They were a gift for your retirement," Attolia forged on tightly. "I am pleased that you--" She gave up. They had spoken of so _many_ things, in the past, herself and Relius. Mostly how to destroy her enemies. They knew the darkest corners of each other's hearts. Such formality was -- should not be needed. Even now. Especially now. She could not bear this distance. "Relius," she said, plaintively, "why have you given up your farm and returned?"

"I..." Relius' face was stricken, and she could see him wishing himself elsewhere, perhaps doubting that he had thought this decision through. "I know that I have no right to refuse your generous gift, My Queen, but such a life is--" He broke off to struggle with the creature under his arm, hissing, " _Hush, Midnight_ ," to it, under his breath. The acoustics in the audience chamber were more than good enough for it to carry. Eugenides stopped even trying to hide his mirth.

"I have been informed--" And the chill in her voice was for her _husband_ , and not her poor former secretary, the victim of his humour "--that perhaps this was not the most appropriate of retirement plans for a man of your background."

Relius gaped. Eugenides was still making a fool of all of them; the goats could not begin to match his antics.

"Perhaps you could tell me what life you would have, in return for your past service?" Attolia said crisply. 

"My Queen, I deserve no--"

"-- _No_." She would not tolerate that. Her eyes zeroed in upon his wrist in its brace. "Do not question me in this, Relius. You should not have gone in the dungeon."

"You had every reason..."

Attolia stood up from her chair, every muscle tense and strained, and turned fiercely to the King. " _Must_ you wring from me a scandal my court shall never forget, by having my husband forcibly escorted from this audience chamber?"

Eugenides sobered quickly. He flopped un-king-like in his chair and stretched his mouth into a long, thin line. She might have liked him better laughing. She did not think it was deliberate, but an unconscious tell, the way he toyed with the hook; the grey glance that Eugenides and Relius shared, and then hastily dragged their eyes apart from. 

"He is yours," Eugenides said, wearily and pouting. "He's never stopped being yours, in the dungeon or on the farm. Ask him."

Attolia looked at Relius. She decided she was asking the wrong questions. The best route around that was to take the opening her husband -- however annoying -- had provided. "Speak," she declared, gesturing with her open hand for her former spymaster to go ahead.

"...I do not belong with the goats," Relius said, haltingly. "...Although it seems some have decided they belong with me. I am recovered from the dungeon in as much as I ever will. I am not an old man, and have no need of retirement. I miss my clothes, and my apartment, the court and the city, and your service most keenly of all. I know that I have failed before and I have no right to ask a second chance. But I should rather live out my days serving you, if you would..."

"Done!" crowed Eugenides.

" _Shut up_ ," Attolia ordered. She frowned at Relius, in simple woollen countryman's clothes, skin darkened from the sun, as hale and healthy as ever she had seen him -- in fact -- and a struggling goat held without trouble beneath his braced arm. "You will not have anything from me but a reward of more risk, more potential pain, more service?"

As her Secretary of the Archives, he had been targeted by the enemy before. As her spymaster, he was revealed now fully to her court, no longer a rumour and whispers.

He was shaking, despite himself. "My reward is your regard. If I cannot serve you, the rest is nothing. I have had plenty of time to think--" Scrambling all but on top of Eugenides' head, the ugly goat bleated loudly as though offering a rude opinion "--while out in the open air on the farm. It was a diverting... convalescence... adventure..." He cleared his throat uncertainly.

Attolia nodded. She looked between the men -- Eudenides offering a dismayed cry and engaging a tug-o'-war with the goat that was eating his hair, though it struck her he was more familiar with the creatures than she and thus his distress suspect -- and nodded again to Relius. "Then my answer is yes. I shall have your old rooms cleared."

Eugenides coughed. "Actually, I ordered that they should never be un-cleared. You can move back in right away."

Attolia glared at him. "So." Looked between them again. Relief. Delight. Tense satisfaction. " _So_. You are of a mind, it seems." And perhaps they had been all along, even though Relius hadn't known it. She waved a hand. "Then you may go, and consider your position reinstated. Take what resources you need to settle in once again." She toed the white goat away from her ankles. "Take the _goats_."

The clucking noises he nervously made to entice them were a wonder. She did not get the impression from the fatalistic and half-hearted way that he made the sounds that he routinely expected obedience, but on this occasion the goats jumped down, and released the hem of her dress, and otherwise ceased their mischief to trot back to heel and follow him out of the audience chamber.

"You... _can_ keep the goats," Attolia added, a little plaintively, to make sure she wasn't misunderstood.

He turned to bow low and thank her in the doorway, then was gone. But not _gone_ ; an important part of her world and her court once again.

"It was intended as a convalescence," the King murmured, nose pointed down to his hook and his hair shadowing his eyes. "Though the decision to return had to be his own."

"You will have to work with him," she pointed out mercilessly, enjoying his flinch. There was very little likelihood the two men would agree on much, outside of this.

"You need clever men," Eugenides replied, with long-suffering drama in his tone. "You need loyal men more, and him most of all. Even if I plan to disagree with every fiendish and brutal suggestion his conniving tongue puts forth."

"Hark who speaks!" exclaimed the Queen, brittly. "How else do you yet plan to reshape my court, only to save all of those who you supplant and cannot stand?"

"Oh," Eugenides said soberly, reaching up with his hand to rearrange his goat-nibbled hair. "We shall see."

END 


End file.
